


Berthold's House

by Apiaceae



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Young Royai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26223457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apiaceae/pseuds/Apiaceae
Summary: Riza was never fond of any of her father's apprentices, she found most to be unbearably rude and unkind, and preferred to avoid contact with them as they came and went throughout the years. Roy Mustang was different somehow, staying much longer than any student had before, and he was going to be sure to prove himself to her. Little did she realize, she was soon to form a dedicated, lifelong bond with the dark eyed, determined student.
Relationships: Hawkeye/Mustang, Riza/Roy, RoyAi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Berthold's House

The day that Roy Mustang arrived at the Hawkeye household, it was raining. The young boy was ushered into the home by Berthold Hawkeye, his master and the teacher of the alchemy lessons that he was ever so anxious to begin. He had been led to the room he would stay in, and he had placed his bags full of clothing and alchemy books on the desk, nervous to move his belongings into the drawers as if it would make things feel less new and exciting, and he was currently thriving off of the fresh excitement. 

Riza Hawkeye, the daughter of Master Hawkeye, had prepared supper and taken her plate to her room to eat, as she typically did after informing her father that supper was ready. He had dismissed her to eat as he usually did, and she had scurried down after she heard the dull clank of silverware against ceramic end, and she tidied the kitchen. Completing her cleaning, she prepared three steaming cups of tea, leaving two at the table beside the door of her father's study after a firm knock, she had her own tea alone in her room in the company of the book she had recently borrowed from the very small library in town. In her typical evening routine, she finished her tea, gathered the empty cups from the table outside her father's study, washed and dried them, and then went to bed after washing herself. A typical child would feel alienated by the solitude, but it was simply all Riza had known for quite some time, and it didn't bother her much. Her father always spent more time with his students than her, though they rarely lasted longer than a week, and he would tell her they weren't the right fit, and a new student would arrive a few weeks later. She doubted this one would stick around any longer than the others, only one had made it longer than a month, and even then, he had returned back to his home. She had learned better than to socialize with her father's students, while he didn't explicitly forbid it, they tended to get in the way of her housework, and then she would get into trouble with her father. She also learned better than to make friends, other children didn't tend to appreciate her stoic personality and blunt tongue, and she tended to be quite quiet. She found no need for befriending someone who would only leave her alone with her father like every other student had, and she was unwilling to allow herself the sadness of loss. Even in between his students and apprentices, her father treated her the same way, keeping to himself in his study and paying his daughter little mind. He was addicted and dedicated to his work, and she knew better than to take him away from that, so she learned to keep to herself and tried her hardest to be content doing so. 

Two weeks after his arrival, Riza was surprised to see that the newest student was still taking lessons from her father each day like clockwork. She tidied his room just after lunch each day when he studied at the dining room table, and she always made sure his belongings were neat. Since the rain had let up a bit despite the regular weather this time of the year in the East, she pulled on her rubber boots, and fetched the hatchet from the shed to split wood. It was a job her father had once done up until he decided Riza was old enough to take that as a chore alongside all of her other household duties. The young girl was so quiet that if one was unaware of her presence in the home, they may assume that the housework was done by elves or some other mythical creature in the night, working silently and quickly. Her father had conditioned her to work out of the way, and to be sure that the house was taken care of, as he was far too busy to assist or do so himself. 

Roy had frequently found himself mystified when he would arrive back in his room each evening before bed, finding all of his alchemy books organized alphabetically on his shelf, and his dirty clothing gone from the hamper, now precisely pressed and folded and placed in a stack on his bed. He assumed that his teacher had a cook, as every meal would be ready with a knock at the door, but he was surprised that the old man could also afford a housekeeper. He had gotten lucky this afternoon though, as his teacher had to run into town for some supplies of some kind, so he was given an extremely rare afternoon free of studying to do whatever he pleased. Berthold had told him he wouldn't return until late that evening, and that his lessons would resume the next morning. Excited for the chance of freedom of activity, Roy ran to his room to change his clothes, and found himself at the window, gazing out at the gray, but miraculously not raining, day. His brow furrowed as he noticed a girl in the yard, and he disregarded all of the options he had been considering for the day ahead of him. Not only was a girl in Master Hawkeye’s yard, but a girl holding a hatchet and splitting wood. Surely she didn't belong here or was lost, so he set out to go speak to her. He all but flew down the stairs at the excitement to talk to someone his age and to talk about something unrelated to his studies, he burst out the back door, and approached the girl, who seemed to freeze at the sight of him, before quickly catching herself and straightening her posture. 

"Hello!" Roy cheerfully exclaimed as he came to stand beside her, craning his neck to admire her work. "What are you doing?"

"Splitting wood." The girl responded bluntly, returning her gaze to the job at hand, and bringing the hatchet down over the log propped up in front of her. The log evenly split into two pieces, one of which she returned to its place, splitting it once more into quarters that she stacked atop the growing pile beside her. She placed the final half onto the log, only to be interrupted by the insistent boy again. 

"Why?" Roy inquired, watching the girl who stopped her motions at the question. Something about her posture and the way she spoke made him wonder how old she actually was, she looked to be his age or younger, but somehow speaking to her felt like speaking to someone significantly older than himself. 

"How else would the house stay warm, if we didn't have split wood for the fireplace and stove?" She asked, though the question and her eyes had fire behind them, like she could protect herself with her words, using them as a weapon. Surely this boy knew what you needed to keep a fire burning, and how else would one get the wood without splitting it themselves? 

"Why are you here?" Roy asked yet another question of the girl. "Do you live nearby?"

"You must be Mister Mustang." She replied evenly, stacking the split wood neatly on top of the pile beside her after finishing the final cut, readying herself to bring them inside. "It's quite nice that father gave you the evening off to spend bothering me while I work."

"Father? I didn't know that teacher had a daughter! I've never even seen you..." Roy stammered, in shock that he had been living with this girl his entire time studying with Master Hawkeye, without a clue. He supposed that Master Hawkeye kept him quite busy with studies, and he was very dedicated to them and studying to do well as an alchemist, but he felt a pang of guilt as if he was wrong in having never noticed his teacher's daughter. 

"I keep busy. How else would you eat, and what would you wear?" She asked, albeit a bit softer than before. 

"Oh!" He exclaimed, and as he noticed her bundling wood into her arms, he did the same. "You're the one who cooks and cleans! Thank you." He smiled widely. "Can I help you carry this?"

"You already are, so I suppose." She responded, leading the way back to the house, where she skillfully removed her shoes at the door without her hands, as to not track mud into her home. Taking the bundle from his arms after stacking her own beside the stove, she added them atop her own, adding the last log directly to the fireplace, brushing her hands against each other to rid them of any spare slivers or debris from the wood. "Thank you." Though she had little time for shenanigans and even less affection to spare for anyone, let alone one of her father's soon to leave apprentices, she did not lack manners nor gratitude for his assistance. In thanking him, she briefly met his eyes with her own for the first time during their exchange.

She had never seen eyes that color before, her own were amber colored, and her father's were similar to hers, but yellower. If she had been older when she had passed, perhaps she would know her mother's eyes were a shade of caramel brown even lighter than her own. The librarian at the small library in town had soft grey eyes, and the baker had bright blue eyes, the baker's wife had bright green eyes and their daughter had a mix of the two, but she had never seen eyes like his. They were dark, the shade of graphite or ink, and they turned slightly upwards at the outer corner. Unlike her large and wide eyes, his were narrower, determined, yet full of kindness and joy. When he grinned, his eyes shut completely in bliss, and she was drawn in by their depth. Perhaps he caught her staring, but he didn't mention it. 

"Why do you hide?" Roy asked gently, gentler than she had ever heard a boy speak to her, or anyone for that matter. His kindness caught her off guard, and she deemed him safe to speak to, especially with her father away and her chores for the day being mostly complete.

"Father likes me to get my work done, and I like to do it quickly to make sure I finish so he doesn’t scold me." She finally gave in, responding honestly. Something about his eyes and the way he spoke told her she could trust him, though she was wholly unsure why. He was just another student of her father's, surely he would be rude and cruel like the others, or would be gone after another few weeks. Getting attached would be useless, the twelve year old sighed. 

"I can help. Your father won't be home this evening, can I help cook dinner?" He asked, much to her surprise. 

"If you'd like, though I'm sure father wouldn't like you doing my jobs for me. He's quite particular." She seemed to wince at the words, and it didn't go unnoticed to the young black eyed boy. 

"I won't tell him!" He grinned widely, and helped her to add wood to the fireplace.

Riza had made soup for supper, and had remained at the table to eat it, seated across from Roy at the large wooden table. He had finished his whole bowl, and returned for seconds, and Riza filled a bowl for her father, setting it aside to warm it when he returned. As he was finishing his second bowl, Roy suddenly bolted upright, pointing at Riza, starling her. “Hey! What’s your name?”

After a moment, she decided that if this Roy boy was to stay, he would surely learn her name, so she may as well be kind to him in hopes he didn’t turn out to be rude and unkind like all of the other students her father had taught over the years. “Riza.” She replied softly, and was met by Roy’s outstretched hand.

“Well Riza, I’m Roy, and I hope we can be friends for a long time!” Riza took his hand into her own, and firmly shook it, nodding in reply. She was surprised he wanted to be her friend, typically people her age were trying to avoid her. They spent the remainder of supper speaking to one another as if they had known each other their entire lives and could entrust each other with their deepest secrets. Riza was even more surprised when Roy completed an entire month studying with her father. She had slowly made her presence slightly more known in the household as she became less afraid the boy would be rude to her, skirting in the dark a bit less as she completed her chores, and lingering at her father's door to hand him the tray of tea each evening instead of leaving it at his table. She found herself hiding less when she heard the stairs creak when she knew it wasn't her father, and on occasion, she remained downstairs for dinner to listen to her father speak to Roy about their lessons for the next day, though she knew nothing of alchemy beyond the titles of the books she alphabetized for Roy. A month bled into two, becoming a year, and then another, and Riza slowly began to warm up to the idea that perhaps Roy was unlike her father's other students and would stay for a while. He left for his aunt's home at Christmas time, but he always returned just a few days after Christmas, no more than a week after he had left to visit his aunt. Riza liked to imagine what Christmas was like for him, she hoped it was as joyful as he was. She did fear that the joy of Christmas would cause him not to return, as much as the quiet and stoic young girl hated it, she had found his cheerfulness endearing and brightening, and had found comfort in his constant presence in her home. She had grown to confide in him and trust him, and she realized she was actually quite fond of him. He brought a brightness to the household that she had never known, it was surely not something her father was capable of, and she knew she wasn't capable of replicating such cheer and joy, yet he somehow never seemed to mind when she brushed off his compliments or returned his silly antics with an open ended scolding. He was different indeed.

He had started splitting the wood for the household each week for her, much to her father's distaste, but he couldn't be talked out of the opportunity for physical activity; he would never tell his teacher that he wanted to take on the chore so his daughter didn't have to have one more thing on her plate. Riza always silently thanked him with soft eye contact, sometimes with a nod. And one evening, a slight smile, something he had never seen on the girl’s features in the entire time he had lived in the Hawkeye residence. He decided that the slight upturning at the corners of her lips suited her, and he made an effort to help more with wood and other heavy chores, not simply to make it so she didn't have to as he knew she was more than strong enough to do them herself, but also in hopes he may get to exchange another smile with her. 

Two and a half years after he started learning from her father, Roy realized he had never celebrated Riza's birthday. While sitting with her as he sipped tea one evening, he had asked her if her birthday was during Christmas. 

"No, why do you ask?" She had inquired, gently returning her teacup to its matching saucer on the table between them. 

"Well, I've never seen you celebrate it, so I’ve always assumed that it must be near Christmas while I'm away." He replied thoughtfully. 

"Father isn't keen on celebration, we don't celebrate holidays or birthdays. They're just days." The girl shrugged, and returned to sipping her steaming tea. Internally, she was impressed by his thoughtfulness, though she was unwilling to give up her stance on the holiday and defy her father in the process.

Roy had gasped at the idea, he loved the holidays, and his aunt sent him a gift each birthday, his teacher had even acknowledged his birthday before, but he didn't celebrate his own daughter's? His features were overwhelmed with sadness, and Riza rested her hand on his forearm comfortingly for no longer than a moment. "It's alright, it doesn't bother me much." She gave him a smile. 

"When is it? Your birthday, I mean." Roy asked, taking the hand of the girl three years his younger. 

"October, the second." She said softly after a long moment of contemplation of whether or not she should share it with him, mostly in fear that he would decide to do something for her birthday against the wishes of her father. 

"I won't forget it." He grinned impossibly large, and the boy held his promise, he never once forgot her birthday in all the years he knew her. He would bring her a small gift, a piece of vanilla cake with strawberry icing from the bakery in town, or a piece of exotic fruit from the store, one that her father would never buy so it would truly be a treat. One year, he saved his money to purchase her a book with empty pages for her to write in. Riza had treasured it, and had pressed flowers between the pages that summer, detailing when they had bloomed and where she had found them or if she had gotten the clipping from a neighbor, so Roy collected petals and flowers and leaves on his walks to bring back to her, trying his hardest to be mindful and not crush the aromatics in his pockets. He liked how it made her soft eyes light up with happiness, actual joy, and he treasured the grace she treated the blossoms with, and took joy in how she was away from her father and her work for at least a while. Her book with pages full of pressed flowers and leaves of every color brought brightness to her dull life, and she felt pride for her ability to have complete control over something creatively and not logistically. She was proud that she was successful at something that didn't involve a room or a rag or a hatchet or a kettle, and there were no rules that could be broken and cause her to be scolded. She treasured the book, storing it in the top drawer of her dresser alongside her few other knick knacks and belongings that had once been her mother's. Though she had been very young when her mother died, she knew that she had loved flowers, her father had told her that quite some time ago when he was well enough to speak fondly of the past. She was sure that if he had not told her, she would have figured it out herself by how she wore a floral dress in all of the small photographs her father had, and how all of the teacups and platters in their home were adorned with pleasant dainty floral designs swirling up the sides and around the edges. Riza liked to think her mother would be proud of her book of flowers, and sometimes when she would look to the stars in the sky out her window before bed, she would wonder if her mother was one of the stars glittering above, watching over her daughter. The thought brought her peace, and she wholeheartedly hoped that she was making her mother proud if she could see her.

Roy had enrolled in the military academy, and Riza’s father was furious. The night that Roy left, Riza made supper and turned into her bedroom for the night early. She feared her father would get a new apprentice, and she feared how much she would miss Roy, her first and only friend. Her father had come into her room that night, his hand leaving a print on her cheek as he screamed at her for forgetting to prepare him evening tea. She prepared tea quickly, burning her hand on the kettle in the process. She hadn’t remembered her father being this cruel before when he didn’t have students, she supposed that he was likely fond of Roy, and he may also be upset that he was gone, making the decision to join the military was clearly one that Berthold had not been fond of. A week later, he called Riza into his office. She had never been in the room in all the years that her father had spent locked inside, and marvelled at the bookshelf taller than she was, filled and overflowing with leather bound books with more alchemic symbols than she could ever pretend to recognize. He had sat her down in a chair, and told her that he had finally cracked the code on flame alchemy, his lifelong pursuit. She had begun to congratulate him, but he told her to stand, and return with a button up shirt. Confused she did as she was requested, reentering the room with a pressed white linen shirt in her hands. Sighing exasperatedly, Berthold told her to change into it, and she disrobed and did so. He had then told her that she was the key to his research, and that he could only trust his daughter to it. She felt pride in herself, her father had never before acknowledged her this much or allowed her to enter his office, he hadn’t even spoken to her this much in years. She agreed to help him, aware that she was completely uninformed and clueless about anything that may assist him in any way, but he had assured her she didn’t require any prior knowledge. 

Her father requested she switch the shirt to wear it backwards, and she did as she was told without complaint. He sat her backwards on a chair, and unbuttoned the shirt, exposing her back. He quickly got to work with a pen, her back itched with the scratching of the pen over and over spanning from her lower back to the nape of her neck. She had shivered twice, and he had scolded her thoroughly, so she held in any motion and sat still. He had taken a considerable amount of time to get it just right, and he tutted in approval. She didn’t dare ask him what his purpose for drawing an array on her back was, until something poked through her skin, hot and painful. A scream escaped her lips, and she clasped her hands over her mouth in fear her father would scold her or worse for the action. Instead, he had told her to sit still and be quiet, and she did so, tears pooling and spilling from her eyes as her back burned. He spent several hours that evening carving into her skin before he buttoned her shirt, each button threaded through a hole that didn’t match, but he didn’t care. He told his daughter to return to her room, and sent her on her way. When she returned to her room, she had cried hard, taking the shirt off to notice the bright red of blood sitting atop the once crisp white fabric. A look in the mirror showed that not even a quarter of the marked lines were accompanied by a red and puffy line, and she feared the nights ahead of her. She laundered her white shirt, soaking it in bleach, and slipped into the bathtub. The water burned her back much worse than when her father was tattooing it, but she knew that it was a wound, and it must be cleaned, surely infection would be far worse than the temporary burn of water. However the burn lasted the entire night, and Riza slept with her door locked and her window open, shirtless so the air could cool her red and inflamed skin.

She had suffered an entire week in her father’s study, spending hours each night having her skin scratched into, bleaching her shirt, feeling her bath burn her back worse, and sleeping with the windows open. It had begun to feel like a routine, until her father proclaimed excitedly that he had completed his life’s work, and that it was up to her to keep it safe. He burned thirteen books that night, telling his daughter that all of his research was now complete, and he needed nothing of his work to survive other than the flesh on her back. Like every other night, Berthold simply dismissed Riza to tend to her wounds, and prepare his tea. She washed her back, and applied a small amount of ointment to the section at the base of her neck that hurt the worse, and went to bed. She tended to her back until it finally healed, the skin flat and unmarred, but the precise lines of the tattoo forever etched into it. She took special care to not wear anything that may reveal her back to anyone, and spent her days tending to her father as his health began to rapidly decline. 

Roy had decided to return to visit, wanting to see her father before his health declined too much. The first evening, he spent the entire afternoon in Berthold’s room, tending to and talking to his teacher. The second evening, he spent the evening with Riza, surprised by how well she was doing despite how poorly her father was doing. He had always known her to be unemotional towards her father, yet this surprised him. When he asked her how she was handling his health, she had declined to answer, so he had spoken of other things. He told her all about how he had nearly completed his military training and was at the very end of his senior year. He hoped to learn more and rise through the ranks, learning as much as he could to better the nation. Riza didn’t tell him, but she was drawn to what he spoke of, but feared that even with Roy passing all of his military testing, that he wasn’t looking out for himself. She had told him she was worried that nobody was watching his back, Roy had poked fun and asked if she was planning on going through military training to be his professional bodyguard and if she would watch his back and scold him for doing poor work like she did when he lived in the Hawkeye household. Riza had laughed, but his joke was ingrained in her head, and her decision had been made. 

When her father passed, Riza was relieved. She was guilty to admit it, but she was so incredibly relieved. She wished that her home would burn down around them, destroying everything she had ever known and giving her an excuse to leave and start completely anew somewhere else. Roy had mourned her father, but Riza silently celebrated her freedom, as guilty as the consideration that death had given her such joy, she felt free and unfettered and like her chains had been unlocked. She didn’t dare say such things to Roy as he mourned, knowing that he had been closer to her father than she ever had. The day they buried him, Riza told Roy that he had completed his research on flame alchemy shortly before his death. He had been so proud and excited, asking if she knew where his research was, and if she would allow him to look at it and learn it. She had agreed, bringing her back to her father’s home after they said goodbye to his headstone.

The duo set foot in Berthold’s office, and Riza felt discomfort seep into her soul, wanting nothing more than to cover her back and tell Roy to leave so she could run away. Roy looked expectantly at his teacher’s desk, not noticing any new books or anything out of place. Furrowing his brow, he met Riza’s eyes confusedly. “Where are his research notes?”

“He burned all of the books of his research, there were thirteen of them.” Riza said through grit teeth.

“So you lied to me about having his research and having finished it?” Roy asked after a moment of empty silence, the hurt evident in his voice. 

“No.” Riza spoke softly, It took her a moment to build the courage, but finally she spoke again. “Could you close your eyes? Just for a moment please.”

“Riza, I’m not going to steal any of his research, you don’t have to hide it from me.” Roy said, though pressing his eyes shut in compliance.

“I know.” Riza murmured, her trembling fingers having trouble with undoing her buttoned blouse. She quietly removed her bra, dropping the garment to the ground, and she clutched her shirt to modestly cover her exposed chest. Roy looked confused by the sounds of fabric, and after a deeply drawn breath, she turned her back to him, and whispered “Okay.”

He opened his eyes, and his mouth fell, his eyes tracing the lines and script and symbols across his friend’s back. The words, symbols, and salamander explained quickly to him that the array before him was indeed the array for flame alchemy. He slowly approached Riza, and ran a finger along one of the lines. Lifting his finger and looking at it, the ink didn’t wipe or fade away, and the realization broke into his mind like a loose stallion running rampant. “Your father… he did this to you?” He asked timidly, earning a nod in response. After a moment of staring at her back wordlessly, he quickly unbuttoned his jacket, wrapping it tightly around her. “We don’t need to do this now.” He spoke kindly, turning her around to look at her. “Why did he do this to you?”

“He said he needed me to keep it safe and not show it to anyone. Said I was the only one he could trust and that his books could easily be stolen.” She said, pulling his jacket tight to her arms. 

“And you’re sure you want me to see it?” He asked again, ignoring the hurt he felt knowing that his teacher had not trusted him enough to give the information to him to learn, and had instead chosen to brand his daughter with it.

“Yes, you’re the only person I trust.” She said firmly. “You want to rise through the military ranks, and you want to better this nation and become Fuhrer. If you think flame alchemy will help you to do so, I want you to study my father's array. You’re the only one I know won’t use it for evil.”

“Okay.” He spoke softly. “Let’s start tomorrow, beside the fire. It’s far too chilly in here, you’ll catch a cold.” He offered her a large grin, and left the room to go make tea, allowing her to dress without the pressure of having him present in the room as she did so. She quickly redressed, but decided to put his jacket on top of her blouse, enjoying the warmth it held. When she returned to the kitchen, he had two cups of tea ready, and a huge grin on his face seeing her still wearing his jacket. They spent the night talking about everything that had happened while Roy was away, and Riza felt like the building she was in was foreign and emotionless and empty, but the man sitting in front of her, sipping his tea beside the fireplace as he told her mindless stories from his time at military academy, was what home was. Warm and inviting and kind and safe, and everything a home should be, everything that Riza had not found within her own home during the entire duration of her life. And Riza vowed then and there that if he was to be the Fuhrer of the nation someday, she would dedicate her own life to protecting him on that journey, and protecting the alchemy her father had forced upon her to protect was merely a side effect. After all, she couldn’t afford to lose him.


End file.
